The Gold Standard
by Peace. Love. and Other Things
Summary: AU. I was just going to give Kyle some files he forgot for work. I didn't mean to meet Harvey Specter. I most certainly didn't mean to sleep with him. Mike/Kyle, eventual Mike/Harvey.
1. Prettiest Thing

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Suits. But if I owned Suits, by default I would own Harvey, and we'd be too busy getting inappropriate in his office for me to be writing fanfiction.

A/N: So, I was eating spaghetti while watching the show and I started writing this cute little fluffy one-shot in which Harvey makes Mike spaghetti. After some editing, it evolved from a 500-word one-shot into this full fledged multi chapter story, which has nothing at all to do with spaghetti or pasta of any kind. In fact, nowhere in the outline I have made for this story is spaghetti at all mentioned. For anyone who really likes spaghetti, I apologize.

"**To fall in love, you have to be in the state of mind for it to stick, like a disease." – Nancy Mitford**

**Chapter One: Prettiest Thing**

"**Oh, I've seen pretty things**

**But you're 'bout the prettiest thing I've ever seen, seen."**

**- Oh Darling**

I figured out I was gay at about thirteen, but I didn't admit it till about sixteen. My best friend Trevor and I were talking about girls in our classes, comparing them and their bodies to each other. He insisted that Darcy Rhodes, hands down, was the best: her rack was the biggest, her ass was the thinnest, her face wasn't all that bad, and she was just on the other side of stupid so as to be tolerable. I didn't really understand why Trevor always cared so much about what the girls looked like, since he had a girlfriend he never shut up about. But that was just Trev – he was constantly searching for that next best thing, the next thrill. The next girl. He could get which ever one he wanted and he knew it. A girl counted herself lucky to last a month with him.

At about fourteen, the endless string of girls waiting to get their chance with Trevor really started to bother me. Most people thought it was because of the traces of grief over my parents' death and that subconsciously I couldn't stand the idea of anyone in my life focusing on someone other than me. Trevor tried 'helping' by making me tag along and having his date bring a friend for me. I never really focused on the girls, though, partially because I wasn't interested and partially because I wouldn't have known what to do with one even if I was. Eventually, Trevor stopped inviting me.

This isn't to say he ignored me; that would be about as far from the truth you could get. He very thoroughly embraced the Bros Before Hos motto and constantly said, "You're my brother. You can tell me anything."

So that night, as we sat on my bed waiting for dinner to be cooked, I looked at Trevor and said through the unfortunate excess of spittle that goes hand-in-hand with braces, "Trev…I just, I don't. I don't really care about boobs or whatever. You know?"

"Oh, I get it," Trevor said with a sly grin. "You're more of a legs man, then? I'll bet you really dig Sophie Dean."

I ran my tongue over my braces in anticipation. This was it. Moment of truth. Beads of nervous sweat formed along my hairline. I wiped clammy hands on my blue jeans. Trevor, noticing my blatant distress, cocked his head to the side like a curious bird.

"You okay?" he asked with concern.

"I'm gay," I blurted, automatically clamping my hands over my mouth.

I'd meant to ease into that part, not just practically scream it for the world (or at least Grammy) to hear. If I thought that saying it would ease the ball of tension in my stomach (the truth will set you free, blah, blah, blah), I was sorely mistaken. Trevor gaped at me like I'd spontaneously grown a second, possibly even third, head. An overwhelming sense of worry chomped at my innards as I went over all the possible 'what ifs.' What if he hated me now? What if he thought I was weird or disgusting? What if he didn't want to be my friend anymore?

I couldn't lose Trevor. It would be like losing a limb, or a kidney, or part of my liver. I would always know something was missing.

The worry turned to outright concern as Trevor bent over at the waist and started gasping for air. Oh my god, I thought, I've killed him. He's so shocked he's choking on his own surprise! I started slamming my fist against his back in order to help him regain control over his breathing.

"Ow, ow, the fuck, Mikey, stop hitting me!" he gasped, sitting back up and grinning. It was then that I realized he wasn't suffocating on his own emotions, he was laughing. "I wish you could see your face, bro. Priceless!" Now it was my turn to gape. Trevor looked at me like I was crazy. "What, did you think I didn't _know_?"

"Um, I…No," I sputtered. "How could you possibly have –"

"Um, dude," Trevor said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Jenny Griffith asked you out and you said _no._ How could you not be gay?"

"Oh. Okay." I was sort of flabbergasted, but in a good way.

"You're totally into me, aren't you?" Trevor teased. "This," he gestured to himself, "is simply irresistible."

I snorted. "You're definitely not a Robert Palmer song. Sorry, bro."

And that was that. Trevor pushed me to come out at school, so I did. A few guys offered to date me, but they were either the brooding, emo type who wore guyliner or else they were the flamboyant, over-the-top gay guys. It wasn't until freshman year at NYU did I finally meet someone I actually considered worth my time. Todd was the first in a long line of guys introduced to me by Trevor, but was the only one he met by selling him pot. Even though I smoked at least a joint a day back then, I always said I wanted a guy who didn't do things like that. I wanted someone who was good and clean, set on the straight and narrow path to a successful career, because while I knew I could stop smoking whenever I wanted, I also knew most people wouldn't.

Todd was the opposite of that. An art history major, he was the very definition of the word 'hipster,' flannel, beanie, and skinny jeans included. But he was hot, with somewhat shaggy blond hair and a lean body toned by surfing in San Francisco, where he was from. We had lots of long talks and make out sessions on the shabby couch in Trevor and I's equally shabby apartment.

After a respectable six weeks together, and Trevor's constant pestering, I decided it was time to ditch my virgin status and move on to being a "real adult." Todd got himself tested, since he'd gotten around a bit in SF, and I picked out at least five different types of condoms and lube, since I didn't know which type he'd prefer. It really made no difference to me. We had discussed it and decided, at least for now, I would be on bottom. I figured no matter what we used, it wouldn't be the most wonderful experience in the world.

It wasn't, but it wasn't as awful as I was afraid of, either. After awhile, I even started to enjoy it. Todd never went harder or faster than I wanted, and he always made sure that I "got my cookies," as Gram would say.

That relationship lasted from the first week of school right up until Thanksgiving weekend, when I got a call from Todd saying, "I'm so sorry, babe, but I just met up with this guy from high school and we…clicked. I don't think I'm coming back to New York."

I wish I could say I was distraught, but I wasn't. I just said, "Okay, I hope you guys are happy," without any sort of bitterness and hung up. (For the record, they were. They got married as soon as it was legal in Boston. I went to the wedding. It was really lovely, and the guy from high school suited Todd much better than I ever did).

After Todd, I didn't really have a boyfriend for the rest of college. I had several dates and more than my fair share of one night stands, but nothing serious or groundbreaking. I was happy with my fuck buddies and occasional bar or party hookups.

Then, the July after I graduated with my Journalism major and Trevor hadn't graduated at all, thanks to getting caught selling pot to the Dean's daughter, I started an internship at the New York Times and Trev landed a job in the mailroom of Pearson Hardman, biggest legal firm in Manhattan. A week after getting this job, he decided we needed to throw a party to celebrate stepping up into the 'real world.' I didn't know how he garnered so many friends at the firm in just a week, but he had always been the most charismatic person I knew, collecting friends like they were pennies.

I was grabbing a beer from the fridge when I met Kyle, a Harvard Law student back in the city for the summer. He was drunk to the point of being sloppy, but to be fair I was almost there, too. He leaned up against the counter and grinned in what was probably supposed to be a sexy manner.

"'ey, good lookin'," he slurred. "Wha's a pretty thin' like you doin' all by yerself?"

I stood up straight, swayed a bit, and looked him over. Yeah, he was cute. I could take him to my room and have a bit of fun with him. I smiled (again, in what was supposed to be a sexy way) back at him.

"I'm not alone now, am I?" I asked. It probably sounded more like, "'m not lone now, my?"

"Nope," said Kyle. "S'how's bout we go to yer room, cutie?"

I all too happily lead him to my room, where we stayed for the rest of the night. We didn't get past second base when Kyle passed out on top of me. I giggled like a moron for a few minutes, puked in the trash can next to my bed, and wrapped my arms around him before diving into unconsciousness myself.

I woke up to the sound of him muttering, "Shit, oh shit, I'm so fucking late."

"What're you late for?" I groaned, rolling over into my pillow. "It's the summer and you're still in school. And it's Saturday."

"I'm supposed to meet my father for breakfast and I'm really fucking late and I don't have a suit. Shit. I've gotta go home." He took a moment to look at me, half naked in the sheets, before smirking. This time, it was definitely sexy. "But I'll be sure to give you a call, cutie."

"You do that," I mumbled. "But not before I'm done being hungover."

I heard him chuckle and leave. He called me the next day and we went out to dinner at some ridiculously fancy place I knew I couldn't afford. We talked about school, about how his father was the CEO of some Fortune 500 company, and how he would be _totally dead _if his dad found out he smoked pot.

"I've got to stop once I graduate Harvard Law," he said smugly, putting unnecessary emphasis on 'Harvard Law.' Like I needed more proof he was totally loaded and just slumming it with me. "When I get a job at Pearson Hardman as an associate, I'll be drug tested every week."

"Harsh," I said. "I'd hate to have that job. Why don't you just go work for your father's company?"

"My older brother is set to inherit it," he replied. "I want to open up my own law firm once I have some experience under my belt."

I nodded and ate the rest of my dinner. I knew from that first date that Kyle wasn't, and never would be, the One. Sure, I know lots of happily married people (okay, so it was really just Todd and my Gram, but cut me some slack here) who say you can't know someone is your One True Love after just one date. It takes time and patience, all that good stuff, but of course I _knew_. Kyle was sexy, smart, and rich, but he lacked in humor and humility. I would later find out he also excelled at the horizontal (or vertical, or diagonal, or whichever direction was most convenient at the time) tango, but that was the end of his plusses. Nothing else was right. Nothing else fit.

But we were content enough together, for the time being. We dated long distance for the next two years he was at Harvard and got an apartment together once he graduated. In our individual searches for Mr. Right, we were each happy to have a warm bed to come home to at the end of the day.

The main problem for me wasn't Kyle himself. It was his friends, especially Devin and Gregory. The three had known each other since diapers and all came from the same, old money, upper-crust branch of society and had a tendency to look down on me and my journalistic ways (even though I totally rocked at it; just recently, I had moved from Junior Reporter to having my own weekly column in the business section of the Times). Unfortunately for our relationship, Kyle was never happier than when in his cups with Dev and Greg at some bar or another, discussing things like the recession (as if it impacted them), the political climate (they didn't know up from down about politics), or bitching about the partners at Pearson Hardman.

Most specifically, they hated Harvey Specter.

From what they told me, it was easy to see why. To hear it from their lips, he was vain, selfish, and cutthroat, always pushing cases he deemed unimportant onto others so he could take the clients that raked in the big bucks. Whenever I pictured him, I thought of a shriveled old balding man hunched over a pile of cash and smelling strongly of mothballs.

So you can imagine my surprise when one day, after a frantic Kyle called me begging him to bring him some briefs he'd forgotten on the coffee table, I literally ran into the most gorgeous man the world had ever seen. Seriously. He was older then me, but it didn't show in his face so much as his stature. His dark brown hair was parted and slicked back expertly with just the right amount of volume in the front. His melted chocolate eyes were dancing while his perfectly pink and sculpted lips were smirking as he caught me by the shoulders and held me back at arms' length.

"Woah, slow down," he said, chuckling. "Are you alright?"

"What, me? Oh, yeah," I laughed nervously. His hands were big and warm on my arms. "I was just looking for someone, is all."

"Maybe I can help you find them." To my disappointment, Adonis released his grip on me to offer a hand to shake. "Harvey Specter, Senior Partner."

I couldn't help it. I totally started gaping like a moron, because _this _was Harvey Specter? This was the horrible cretin Kyle and his friends kept complaining about? How could he possibly horrible? He was _beautiful_.

One of Harvey's eyebrows quirked. "This is the part where you tell me your name and we shake hands, then I charm you for a minute before you agree to go to dinner with me."

I flushed a furious shade of red. "Kyle Durant," I blurted before silently cursing myself. "I mean, I'm Mike Ross," I shook his hand. "I'm looking for Kyle Durant, because he's my, um, boyfriend. And these!" I waved the briefs in my hand. "These are his. He forgot them on our coffee table. In our apartment. That we share together. Because, you know. He's my boyfriend."

Can you say word vomit? I thought desperately to myself. Both of Harvey's eyebrows were raised in amusement.

"I think I missed the part where you said he was your boyfriend," Harvey said. "You can let go of my hand now. We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea, now would we?"

I dropped his hand as if it were on fire, which made him chuckle again.

"Mike Ross…" he began. "Where have I heard that name before? Oh, now I know!" He snapped his fingers in the air. "You write for the Times, don't you? I loved your article this last week."

I smiled sheepishly. "Thank you. That's really nice to hear."

"I'm sure your boyfriend you share an apartment and coffee table with compliments you on them all the time," Harvey smiled. Oh my god, that smile. My knees went weak just seeing it. "Doesn't he?"

"Well…no," I admitted with a blush. "He reads so much stuff at work, he's just tired when he gets home. You know."

Harvey obviously found that hard to believe, which was okay, because it was a lie, anyways. The truth was, Kyle wasn't interested in reading anything business related. Which, I often told him, was stupid if he hoped to run his own business some day.

Harvey didn't get the chance to respond, however, because at that moment Kyle's very unwelcome voice was calling, "Mikey, oh my god, you are the _best_."

He stood right next to me and snatched the files away. "Thank you so, so much, Mike. I really appreciate it – Mr. Specter!" When he caught sight of Harvey, Kyle's posture straightened immediately and he looked his boss right in the eye. "Hello!"

"Hello, Keith," Harvey said, cocky. "I was just having a very interesting chat with Mike here about his newspaper articles."

"They're fantastic, aren't they?" Kyle chuckled nervously. "Really, really great stuff."

"Oh? And you would know that how?" At Kyle's confused look, Harvey continued, "Mike was also telling me how you never read them. I would really recommend it. They're quite interesting."

As much as I didn't want to see my boyfriend torn down, I couldn't help but bask in the glow of Harvey's praise. Even at work, the most I got was a, "This is two hours late, you're lucky we like you," from my editor.

"I'll be sure to check them out," Kyle stuttered.

"I'm sure you will, Keanu," Harvey smiled.

"It's Kyle," I interjected boldly. Kyle looked at me with wide eyes, as if to say, _You moron you don't correct a Senior Partner!_

Harvey just raised his brows. "His name is Kyle," I told him, my boldness impressing even myself.

He quirked his lips. "And so it is. My apologies, Kyle," he gave a mock bow. "It was wonderful to meet you, Mike. I hope to see you again sometime."

With a wink at me, he was gone. Kyle kept prattling on about how he couldn't believe I'd done that, that was so going to cost him later, what was I thinking?

"I was thinking I didn't want to see you insulted," I said. "I'll see you later."

I kissed his cheek, but even as I did so I felt a little guilty.

Because I was totally watching Harvey's ass as he walked away from us.


	2. Best Friend

**A/N: **I am so sorry took so long to update, but thank you all so much for all the love you've given me for this story! I promise you more frequent updates in the future.

This is just a filler, Trevor/Mike bromance chapter, really. It does have some sort of significance, I promise.

**Chapter Two: Call Me Maybe**

"**He's my best friend,**

**Best of all best friend,**

**You should get a best friend, too."**

**Toybox **

It's not like I was, you know, stalking Harvey or whatever. But if I went in to Pearson Hardman again the next day to grab Trevor for lunch and happened to run into him, well, I certainly wasn't going to complain. (I didn't run into him, even though I _got lost _and circled the 50th floor twice. If I looked like I was pouting as I headed down to the mailroom to grab Trevor, it was just a trick of the light. Totally)

When I did finally get down five floors to see my friend, he was leaning against the wall next to the mailroom door, intently scrolling through his iPhone. He was so immersed in whatever he was doing he didn't notice as I ran up to him and shouted BOO straight in his ear.

Trev jumped away from the wall, almost smacking me in the process, and stared at me with wide, surprised eyes.

"Shit, Mikey!" Trevor cried, clutching at his heart in a dramatic manner. "You scared the hell outta me!"

I grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders to begin dragging him away. "You have to stay on your toes, buddy," I teased. "What if I were an axe murderer or something, come to kill you?"

"Because security would totally just let you in if you waltzed in carrying a giant axe," Trevor snorted.

"Please. I'm way smarter than that," I said with a smile, pressing the elevator call button. "It would be a hatchet, small enough to carry in the waistband of my pants."

"You wouldn't be an axe murderer than, dumbass," Trevor insisted. "You'd be a hatchet murderer."

"Touché."

Things with Trevor were always like this – easy, relaxed, fun. It was different from my interactions with Kyle in that I never worried about telling Trevor anything, which is why I decided it would be safe to tell him about my attraction to Harvey. All the previous night, all I could think about were Harvey's warm brown eyes and tight, firm arms, even when Kyle pulled me into our bed.

We walked out of the Pearson Hardman building, giving a cheerful nod to Paul the Security Guy, who was always on duty during midday on Thursdays. He responded with a half-hearted wave and a frown.

"What's wrong with Paul?" Trevor asked as we ordered hotdogs at our favorite cart just outside the firm.

"His wife is leaving him," I replied sadly. "For another woman. She's trying to take the kids with her."

"How do you know?"

"He told me. I'm very personable, you know. There's a reason I'm good with interviews."

Trevor snorted, but didn't say anything. We took our hotdogs and found a nearby bench. I just plopped down, but Trev wiped off the seat of the bench with a napkin before sitting his immaculately-suited ass down. I shook my head, unable to believe this was the same kid who used to kick mud in the face of my schoolyard bullies. We sat in silence for a few minutes, before I said:

"So…what do you know about Harvey Specter?"

"Besides the fact that he's a giant prick?" Trevor spat. "Not much. He's a Senior Partner and only, like, 40, which is way the hell young for Pearson Hardman." He frowned. "Why?"

I blushed and looked down at my hotdog, toying with the foil it was wrapped in. "No reason," I muttered. "Just, you know. Wondering."

"You met him, didn't you?" Trevor said with a slow grin. "And you think he's sexy."

"Do not!" I objected, feeling like a twelve-year-old again.

"Do so!" Trevor said back, just as childishly. He smiled like a devious kid who just found out a blackmail-worthy secret. Which this wasn't. It was okay to find yourself (deeply, horribly, imagine-your-boyfriend-is-him-while-having-sex) attracted to someone. Everyone fantasizes. Totally. "Mike and Harvey, sitting in a tree!"

"Oh, shut up!" I groaned. "You're horrible!"

"Doing something they shouldn't be!" he continued.

"Trevor!"

"It starts with an S, and ends with an X!"

"I'm never speaking to you again. Ever. _Ever._"

"Oh my gosh , it must be-"

I slapped my hand over his mouth, but even through my thin veil of disdain and embarrassment I couldn't repress a chuckle. "You're an asshole," I laughed. "And disgusting!" I cried, tearing my hand away from his mouth when he ran his tongue across my palm.

"You love me," Trevor said. "But, anyways, speaking of attraction…You remember that one girl, Jenny McCarthy."

"Of course. I'm pretty sure you liked to say she had, 'tits like an apple,' or something along those lines."

Trevor, mouth full of hotdog, punched me in the shoulder and continued, "You're a bitch. Well, Tits Like An Apple Facebook'ed me the other day. She wants to meet up for drinks."

"Didn't she tell you never to speak to her again after you asked her to blow you at a football game?" I asked.

"Um…yeah." Jenny, captain of the cheer squad, had been flirting with Trevor after a game senior year. Thinking he was so cool and suave he could convince even straight-A, Bible loving Jenny McCarthy to do anything he wanted, he said something lewd about her on her knees under the bleachers. She had slapped him so hard I was sure the handprint wouldn't go away ever. Trevor shuddered at the memory. "But I didn't look her up, man! She approached me. We're going out Saturday night."

"Cool," I said. "But back to Harvey. What should I do?"

"What do you mean, what should you do?"

"Well, it's like…I'm with Kyle. We are in a committed relationship, right? But all night, I was having these crazy, wild fantasies about Harvey, even when we were having sex."

I thought Trevor's eyes were going to bug out of his head when he almost screeched, "You had _sex with Harvey Specter?_"

"No, you moron!" I cried, whacking him over the head. "I _fantasized _about having sex with Harvey while I was actually having sex with Kyle."

Trevor was silent, his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights at a point over my shoulder.

"Trevor? I need your advice, man. I mean, it's not like Kyle and I are _in love_, or whatever, but I'm still his boyfriend and I think I should respect that. Besides, it's not like Specter made a move on me, or whatever. I mean, I think he was sort of flirting with me." Trevor stayed silent, eyes fixed behind me. Irritation prickled my skin. "Dude, what are you looking at – oh."

I cut myself off, cheeks blazing with color, because standing behind me was none other than Harvey Specter, one expertly groom brow quirked in what could only be described as a leering manner as he smirked that horrible, delicious smirk down at us.


End file.
